AUTHOR: Sheri Lynch TITLE: I'm an adult now... DATE: 1/02/2007 12:41:00 PM ----- BODY:

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I think that sometime late in 2006 I became a grown-up. The worrisome signs: * I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted for Christmas. (Other than What Is The What by Dave Eggers, which my fabulous mother-in-law Jacque promptly sent, God bless her.) But maybe you know what I mean. I used to be able to come up with a huge list of things to wish for and now I’m down to a book and maybe some Grey Goose. Oh sure, I’d love a gigantic plasma TV and a trip to St. Barths or whatever – who wouldn’t? It’s just that this year, I didn’t have my old enthusiasm for making even a fantasy list. Book. Vodka. Nap. If that’s not a terrifyingly adult trinity, I don’t know what is. It’s like I’m turning into Lou Dobbs or something. * My right knee now hurts like a mother after a run. It used to hurt during the run, yes. But after? No way. I did three slow miles yesterday and more than 24 hours later, my right knee still feels like a pissed off bookie whacked it with a lead pipe. I’m scared to death that if this keeps us, I’ll start using my knee to predict the weather. Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? First the knee goes, then we start limping around and calling for rain. Human barometer: every little girl’s dream. Yikes. * I can now look back on my life and actually see how the mistakes I’ve made form a pattern, or a web, if you will. In any event, a whole bunch of mistakes all knitted together and piled on top of each other and no chance for a do-over. Which makes me want to a) drink and b) hit myself over the head with the empty bottle when I’m finished. See why vodka and a nap were the only things I could come up with for Christmas? My mistakes used to be these big, colorful soap operas that I lived inside of and could never seem to get any real perspective on. Now they’re more like billboards on the interstate. Billboards that shout Regret! Was That Ever Stupid! What The Hell Were You Thinking? And of course, my personal favorite: Told You Love Didn’t Grow On Trees, Didn’t I? I guess this is a taste of that perspective stuff I never could seem to get a handle on. Tell you what, it’s nasty. Somebody pass the Goose. * Two days ago, I found myself reading both the Business and Sports sections in the paper. (Again, am I morphing into Lou Dobbs? Must check mirror for both piercing stare and jowls.) Why did I read the Sports section? I don’t belong there. I’ve yet to figure out what the hell is meant by the phrase “first and ten”. Why did I read the Business section? I don’t know. It was there. This is how it happens. One day you’re surfing e-bay for bottles of discontinued John Frieda Beach spray – the only product that keeps my unruly head of naturally wavy hair from looking like a bad rip-off of the Undercover Brother so of course the manufacturer promptly ceased making it – and the next, you’re perusing articles about infill development. As soon as I caught myself reading about commercial real estate, I immediately flipped to the comics page to check my horoscope. But still. The damage was done. Maybe it’s just a bad case of January. Not my favorite month. It’s cold and usually dreary and my birthday looms, something I haven’t enjoyed since I was about 8. Which happens to be roughly the last time anyone celebrated the occasion, believe me. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll feel much less adult about things, more like my old self. That’d be nice. 2007 will be a good year, don’t you think? I do. I’m hoping for good things for everyone. I’m also hoping for snow. Wouldn’t just a little bit of snow be great? Just enough to remind us how lucky we are to have a fireplace and some instant hot chocolate and a pair of really cute Swedish mittens that we bought last year in northern Wisconsin and have been dying to wear ever since? And please don’t ask why someone who lives in the South would buy Swedish mittens in the first place because my husband already did, and the answer is, they were on sale. Duh. I just want some damn snow. In fact, I’ll go ahead and predict it. I think I can feel it coming…in my knee.

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